Tal-Vashoth
by PoptartProdigy
Summary: What is the Qun? To some, a creed. To others, a way of life. To one lonely Tal-Vashoth, fighting an army of assassins on the docks of his home, it is an abomination. One-shot, exploring how an idealistic Tal-Vashoth might think.


Tal-Vashoth

The Qunari spins in deceptively graceful arcs on the docks of Par Vollen, swinging his massive sword about to keep the Ben-Hassrath at bay.

_No_, he reminds himself, _not Qunari. Kossith._

_Tal-Vashoth._

"_Vashoth,"_ hisses an elven female, darting in close in an attempt to gut the tall warrior. _Grey One_, she means. One who has abandoned the Qun. Worse, to the Qunari, than bas.

At least bas have never known the Qun, before choosing to reject it.

_No, _thinks the warrior, _Tal-Vashoth_. _True Grey_. An affectation, in truth. One means much the same as another, but Tal-Vashoth is less insulting than Vashoth.

"_Vashoth,"_ snarls a Kossith male, striking at the cornered warrior.

The warrior does not know why he returned to Par Vollen. Most Tal-Vashoth vanish into other lands far away from Qunari territory, unwilling to risk confrontation with these agents of the Ariqun. Why he came here is something that the warrior cannot seem to find a rational explanation for.

He breaks off his thoughts as he sweeps his sword in a low arc to fend off the circling Ben-Hassrath. The assassin-priests skip back before closing back in menacingly.

"_Vashoth,"_ taunts a human male. The warrior's lip curls at the insult, but he restrains himself from responding.

He instead takes an almighty swing which the human barely evades, scoring a long scratch down the man's side. The assassin-priest hisses in pain before pressing the assault again.

Aside from chanting their designation of the warrior, the Ben-Hassrath do not speak to their prey. That would not be needful, after all, and the Qun abhors waste.

_Or so we are taught,_ ruminates the Tal-Vashoth. _Those of us who are not blind can see otherwise._

The Qun, so loftily preaching of efficient use of resources and the good of society by the subordination of the individual, manages to waste individual talents rather neatly, in the warrior's estimation. Women are never to be warriors, for instance – save when mustered into the Ben-Hassrath.

Hypocrisy, the warrior has found, is apparently one of the highest forms of the Qun.

Women never destined to be warriors, men forever forbidden from the priesthood – such waste! Such _arrogance_, that an entire people believes that the Tamassran could be infallible. Such stupidity. Some things the Qunari say are indeed true. The male gender is, for example, certainly better suited to soldiery and labor as a general rule than the female gender. However, that does not preclude the possibility of individuals well suited to the task. Why would the Arishok deny himself such a resource? With the Qunari perpetually at war with the Tevinters why would he bar fully half of the population from service, should they desire it and be qualified? If that is not waste…

The warrior ducks under a swing from the Kossith before feinting at the elf and promptly spinning to bisect the human at the waist. Another swiftly takes his place.

And there is another complaint. The Qun demands the subordination of the individual to the group. Working towards the good of a group is certainly a worthy task, but is it truly so worthy that it necessitates the removal of individual worth entirely?

The Ben-Hassrath that the warrior has just killed will not be remembered. He will not be honored. The record of this battle will read, _"Lone Vashoth returned to Par Vollen and fought the Ben-Hassrath. Some Ben-Hassrath were killed in subduing the demon. Shipment of hams arrived from Ferelden."_

The warrior has lost too many companions for too little reason to easily countenance forgetting them all.

But of course – he skips away from a stab by the elf – the Qun _abhors_ waste. The mission was _completed_, after all. Thus, the sacrifices were _needful._

Bile rises at the back of the warrior's throat, and he whirls, putting his blade across the kossith's throat.

Before the hornless giant has fallen completely, a replacement steps impassively into his place. The easy replacement of an individual – only, after all, a _part_ of the "healthy" whole of the Qun – merely stokes the warrior's rage, and he begins slashing and stabbing in a whirlwind of enraged motion, striking down assassin after assassin in his anger. When it finally cools, he is surrounded by seven more corpses. He allows himself a small smile.

_Are these sacrifices _needful_, Ben-Hassrath?_

Still, three of the assassin-priests circle, one of each surface race, chanting, _"Vashoth,"_ in low, spiteful voices. A crowd of them lingers beyond on the docks of the city, waiting to take their place in the circle.

The warrior settles back into a defensive stance, allowing his arms a moment of rest. He begins stepping aside from attacks or allowing them to glance off the edges of his armor, using his weapon only with necessary.

Every movement is perfect. Not a shred of effort is wasted. For a moment, he is untouchable.

_This is perfection_, he thinks, finally bringing his sword back into play by splitting the latest elf's skull. _This is how one eliminates waste._ He draws his blade across the belly of the human in the circle before kicking him away with the same motion. _One individual in need, calling upon all they have._ He runs his massive sword through the chest of a kossith before almost delicately drawing it out to knock another blade aside. _Nobody need be denied what they can do._

The warrior has met other Tal-Vashoth during his travels. Often, they deserve the appellation of demon, as the Qunari name them. They often kill with no thought of restraint or responsibility, taking coin for their work or merely doing it for its own sake. It is disgusting to the warrior, and he often found himself facing and killing these monsters masquerading as Tal-Vashoth when he met them.

He never thought like that. Oh, he knew that he was a warrior, but he worked honestly for food where he could, and never took it from those who did him no harm. He did not sacrifice his honor to be rid of the Qun.

And he did not abandon the Qun's tenets because he was passed over for personal gain. He left it behind because it left his fellow soldiers behind. When a Qunari is told by their superior officer, "charge," they charge, no matter if there is a cowering regiment of untested conscripts at the end of the field, or a lethal and well-trained company of veteran archers. And the commanding officer is never wrong if they are working directly towards the prosecution of their goal.

And, when the charge is over, if the enemy is dead and the Qunari have been nearly slaughtered? Then clearly, the losses were the way to complete the goal.

The warrior could not live with himself if that was the creed he followed.

The latest human to step into place seems to not have his head in the fight. _"Vashoth,"_ he drawls, not putting his mind to the task. His blows are lazy and his defense sloppy. The warrior begins plotting how to target him next.

"Why are you here?" asks the human, and the shock of hearing one of his assailants speak nearly causes the warrior to miss a step. "Why come to Par Vollen? You're a _Vashoth_ – you don't fight for anything. Why come here to die?"

"I do _not_," snarls the warrior, unable to stop himself, "fight for _nothing_."

"Then why come?"

The warrior swings at his opponent, only for the human to develop a sudden case of talent and easily evade the strike. Clearly, the sloppiness is a front.

The human's question does hold merit, though. Why has the warrior come? Is he truly so eager to die? Does he have so little to live for?

_No._ He did not flee the Qun simply because he was unhappy. He fled because no other worthy option existed. Because he could not be enslaved to a system in which he and everybody else was a mere part in a machine.

And then, he has it. He left because he could not be a cog; because he could not live with himself if that were all he saw those about him as. And he has returned because he could not hide forever, could not cower, could not forever hide from his old masters, that they might name him coward and traitor.

He has returned to show them that a Qunari can be-

A rumbling voice commands the warrior's attackers to step aside, and the crowd of Ben-Hassrath parts. With a swift glance to the speaker, the assassin-priests circling the warrior obey.

The warrior looks up into the violet eyes of the Arishok.

The male kossith is an impressive specimen. Nine feet tall, with pale skin, white hair, and large, curling horns, he wields a greataxe in his massive hands. As he approaches the warrior, the Arishok settles into a fighting stance. The meaning is clear; _you were once my responsibility. Your death will be on my hands._ No words are spoken, as this message does not need to be voiced.

"_Vashoth,"_ pronounces the Arishok, rolling the word deliberately off of his tongue.

"No," replies the warrior, just as calmly.

The Arishok snorts quietly. "_Tal-Vashoth,"_ he corrects himself, and only one whom had served under the Arishok for as long as the warrior has could detect the slight, sarcastic weight lent to the prefix.

But the warrior repeats, "No."

The Arishok's eyebrow twitches slightly in a more muted and subdued version of his usual cue meaning _explain_.

The warrior stands up straight, his back unbent and his skin still unmarked by enemy blade, and points his sword at the one who once was his superior. "Free," he says.

The Arishok's lips twist slightly; _contempt_, to the very perceptive. He begins to walk forward slowly, done with communication.

For the first time in years, the warrior's lips lift briefly in a smile.

And then, surrounded by a crowd of Ben-Hassrath of the docks of Par Vollen, facing the Arishok in single combat, he hefts his sword and walks forward. As the first blows of sword on axe rings out across the bay, the warrior's voice joins it.

"_Katara, Arishok!"_

"_Katara, Qunari!"_

"_Kata esaam Qun!"_

* * *

_A/N: I've always thought that the concept of the Tal-Vashoth was one sadly underutilized in Dragon Age. The Qunari are, after all, recognized as a threat to every nation in Thedas, even if they're only warring with the Tevinters at time of writing (although, judging by the EA 2013 trailer to DA: Inquisition, that may possibly not be the case for much longer). One would think that every ruler and their brother would have long since made it their highest priority to find out as much as they can about them. And there are all of these self-exiled Qunari just sitting around, working for the highest bidder. Some of these exiles might know what _gaatlok _is, people! Make like Duke Prosper and go find a defector to pay off!_

_In this, I wanted to explore the mindset of a Tal-Vashoth that wasn't mindlessly violent, like many (apparently) are in BioWare's world. In a culture like the Qun, I thought that it wouldn't be entirely unreasonable that some genuinely idealistic Vashoth and Tal-Vashoth would spring up. And so we have my unnamed warrior. If you want to know what his last battle cries were, check the "Qunlat" page on the DA Wiki. All terms found here are defined there. The Arishok spoken of here is not DA2's Arishok, nor is it [COLOSSAL SPOILER WARNING FOR POST-DA2 STUFF, IF YOU MIND THAT SORT OF THING] our good old ascended buddy Sten [OKAY, YOU CAN LOOK NOW]. He is a purely original character._

_I hope you enjoyed this, but even if you didn't, please review to tell me your thoughts and suggestions. I always appreciate reviews and make a habit of replying to any I receive. Getting to see people's thoughts and opinions on my work is a rare pleasure._

_If you're interested in more of my work, my profile is currently a bit thin on the ground story-wise, but I have one short story for the Avatar: The Last Airbender setting posted, with far larger and more ambitious projects on the way. You can check there for updates on progress. But for now, I hope that you've enjoyed my work. Have a wonderful day/night/whatever the hell time it is where you are. PoptartProdigy out._


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